


Draw a Circle

by godsilladakilla



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-13
Updated: 2012-03-13
Packaged: 2017-11-01 21:23:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/361393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/godsilladakilla/pseuds/godsilladakilla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2012, and all hell has broke loose. Bruised, beaten, and broken; his sanity long gone and nothing but a empty shell is remaining. Or is there still some soul left inside his body? Slight gerita SMUT.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Draw a Circle

Disclaimer: I do NOT own Hetalia!

DRAW A CIRCLE

[You never, ever asked to be a Nation… did you…?]

Great, just great, the voice was back. Though there's really no surprise in the notion, only something of a hesitant acceptance; it's become such a common thing that the young brunet simply sighed inwardly in annoyance. No matter how hard the man tried to ignore it- tried to silently tell the entity it was unwelcome- it never seemed to go away. Not only that but it always seemed to repeat its words, becoming that of a broken record on constant repeat, sent only to gravelly bother the man; he's been able to predict the entity's every move in this one-sided game of wits- of course, after awhile, the man ceased replying to the troubling statements.

[It's all really unfair, isn't it?]

Silence; the utter silence of nothingness, as well as hopelessness, all careened, twisting into an agonizing torture.

["You look like shit" –that's what Ludwig would say… wouldn't it?]

It was a devious change of play indeed- change topics in attempt to coax the man into participating in their little game. But there was truth in the hurtful (though the entity didn't phrase it in a venomous way, merely stated a fact) words; the graceful, yet goofy, appearance of what used to be the Italian Republic was replaced with nothing more than a living bag of bones. Accumulating years of malnutrition reduced the Nation to almost nothing. His sickly-thin frame only made the scars riddled along his body much more prominent; they ranged from burns to scalpel incisions that were both new and old- although he couldn't distinguish which were which. By the itch on top his skull, he could tell his unwashed reddish-brown hair was left in chaos. He would guess his once gently tanned skin was now as pale as an albino- considering he can't remember the last time he felt the sun warming him; the man emptily pondered what would happen if he were to step outside- the bright sunlight would probably sear his dark-trained eyes into blindness.

The entity was probably right. Lud- no, the man couldn't allow his mind to wander to joyous memories; if he did, that would merely weaken his broken psyche all the more-would see him as garbage. Just trash. Nothing more. After a moment of doting on the thought a sudden realization shot itself into his mind, crippling the man with painful truth and fear: in this situation Germany would be doing no better; he, too, was probably withering away in a cell- all at the hands of those bastards. As well as any other Nation out there- Japan, Mr. Austria, Miss Hungary, England, France, Spain, Russia, and even the self-proclaimed hero America; they all could be nothing more than half-dead encasements of misery.

[He'd probably be disgusted with how much you've changed.]

Yes, yes he would; or anyone else for that matter. In the horrid state the man was in, it would be a shock if any given person wasn't sickened. It was clear to see- if one were to flip open a history textbook to see the bubbly, naïve Nation staring directly into the camera-dramatic would be an understatement. Especially in the transition in his eyes; the once big, bright, innocent, vibrant golden-brown eyes were now replaced with distant, solemn dark orbs- like that of a corpse.

[You look like you belong in a morgue…]

It was all too cruelly hilarious to cope. In fact, he would laugh like a madman if it weren't for the dull, yet aching, pain in his chest; it wasn't like the agonizing wounds he's received- its something much hollower, something he's only begun to feel recently. (Or at least he thinks it's been a short time. With countless hours and nothing but a mere blank wall to see, one loses track of such luxury.) Death was such a sweet, tantalizing impossibility. He ponders the thought of being dead. Would it truly matter if he were live or not anymore? Would anyone actually care at this point? Maybe they would be upset if they lost their 'patient.' However, the man quickly omits the questions from his mind. As long as Venice still stands its nothing more than a fermented dream; if a Nation's capital stands thriving said Nation is granted everlasting life- the non-spoken, non-written agreement. It was meant to be a convenience- to prevent the constant changes of a country's ambassador. It has never been a problem for the man, although, now he wishes himself to be human. In the state of his deformed, damaged body he truly does look like he belongs on an autopsy table.

[It really isn't fair, is it?]

Great, just great; the voice was back to its normal routine. At least now it was easier to ignore. Though, it didn't stop the man's shriveled, hardened heart from sinking further into the dark abyss hidden deep within his chest. It was completely unfair! If he had the spirit, he would scream that out- but that faded long ago within this captivity.

[…Why don't you talk to me anymore? … You were always such the talkative type-]

The man has always gotten himself into constant trouble with his problem of keeping his mouth shut- like the time he was captured by the Allies whilst on spy duty; but now that's all changed, he's managed to break his bad habit, with agony as his teacher. There's a slight laugh of ironic spite that the man is unsure whose voice the entity's belonged to- whether it was someone else's or if it was his own- he couldn't remember due to neglect on vocal chords, which were probably dusty within his throat by now.(Maybe the voice really was his own. It tended to jump subjects a lot- an 'adorable quirk' of what the man used to be.) He could always recall Lud- his voice; he could never forget, and it is that stern, protective tone that lingered in the recesses of the Nation's brain which haunted him.

[-Especially when they used some 'persuasion' on you…]

The man winced in pain at the words that weren't quite there. (Or maybe they were. Rather recently the Nation's filter of reality has begun to wither, just like his body.) Subconsciously, a deformed hand-made when fractured bones healed wrong- tightly gripped the bruised skin of his bicep; a rigid line of calloused flesh rose slightly higher than the rest. He could remember that scar perfectly: the first one he's ever received in this captivity.

The man closed his somber eyes and the darkness morphed into a grayish setting; there wasn't really anything distinctive about it, other than the large one-sided windows off to the side or the large grey table containing various tools in the center.

"You're going to tell us everything you know about Nations, Italy…. Or do you prefer Veneziano?"

It was strange; He watched the grotesque scene play outside his body, like some spectator observing a demonstration.

"No~ no! I can't! Fratello told me not to~!"

The man wished he could participate- wish he could intervene before it even began. After all, he painfully knew what was to come.

"Why do Nations live naturally immortal lives?"

"How are Nations born?"

"What are your connections with other Nations… say like South Italy?"

"How can Nations die?"

The way the curious scientists shot questions at his younger self- like that of over-enthusiastic news reporter interviewing a celebrity- caused a wave a sickness to pass through the man's empty stomach.

"No~ I can't tell you~!"

"A warn you; we WILL get answers, voluntarily or not. The questions still stand. I'd advise you to speak up soon, for I'm not a very patient man."

The man wishes his previous self would have just answered the questions then and there- to have self-preservation as his first priority instead of loyalty; however, of course, he can do nothing to change the past.

"Ve~ I'm not allowed~!"

"Very well..."

It was such a simple reply the Nation actually remembers believing everything was over; until a scalpel- heated searing hot by resting over a lab-burner- was dragged slowly across his skin.

A blood-curdling scream- his own scream- echoed throughout the man's mind. His head bashed against the concrete wall he rested on, in order to rip him from his nightmare, while his eyes snap open. A desperate pant sounds, reverberating off the walls within the small room. Soon his breathing rate becomes once again controlled as his eyes scan the room; it's a similar troubling grayish setting, but much smaller and there was no other sign of life besides him.

[Been trying to forget about that time, haven't you; even been neglecting sleep just to avoid it, too. But running from your memories is impossible…]

No matter how much he wished to deny it, the entity was right; it was always right. The man merely dropped his head, peering down at the hands that have become so oddly foreign. He would cry- but as it appears- he can't. Perhaps all the tears in eyes have been used or maybe they simply tried up, like his heart.

[It's funny. … In the end, you told them everything…]

[It's all really unfair….there's no denying it now….right? You could have your lover-]

The Nation shudders at the statement; once again the entity was right. He wonders what he would be doing at this moment if fate turned out how he originally thought- they would be either training or eating dinner, preferably pasta. (Oh how much the man longed for the meal; what he wouldn't give to have a bowl of the food to sate his never dying hunger. However he quickly omits the longing from his mind- in attempt to control his growling stomach.) Though the memory that appears, in a replacement, is so much worse than the tomato-covered noodles.

Calloused battle worn fingers passionately trace all over the Nation's body. The two kiss feverishly, as if they both wish to devour either partner- only to hesitantly break away for air; that's when he see's it: those usually annoyed, platinum blue eyes half-lidded in lust.

Oh how the man wishes he could be back in this moment, for it to be the only thing in the entire world. But, alas, the world continued to spin on its axis and here the man was-rotting away in his confinement.

"Ich liebe Dich."

The grunt connected with the Nation's neck before a hot tongue rolled up his collarbone- earning a pleased shiver. A fastening pace of thrusts soon followed; with the only sound to be heard were the erotic slaps of flesh against flesh. Wrapped in pleasure the man's nimble fingers knotted themselves in blonde hair- which normally was combed so perfectly, now was a drenched mess- as he moaned out.

"T-ti amo troppo~!"

Another slam to the head sounded out in the quiet room. The impact of the concrete wall caused his cranium throb in protest and his vision begins to blur. (His sense of reality was certainly vanishing.) It was all too painful; not the head trauma- the man could deal with that- but recalling his fondest memories. That one time: their only time; remembering how blissful and content the Nation felt when arms were wrapped around him comfortingly as they drifted to sleep afterwards proved to be horrible. Completely agonizing.

[-If it weren't for those bastards…]

The man remembers when the decree of 2012 first aired- the decree that put humans at the top of control and deemed Nations maliciously untrustworthy in return. He remembers how some opposed the idea, fearing it would bring the unsightly end of the world (however that percentage of the population was quickly, and quite harshly, crushed).

He had been at Germany's house at the time when the announcement played on almost every channel there was on television. He remembers how, even though the fear and uncertainty of the situation clearly shone through those blue orbs, he tried to calm the quivering smaller Nation; he had wrapped those muscular arms around the man into a tight, protective embrace.

"I'll protect you. I'll be your security... das verspreche ich Ihnen, mein lieber Schatz…"

He lied; even if he didn't realize it (although he probably did), the bigger Nation lied. Soon after- too soon- they were separated, brought to different testing labs to live out their lives in depressing misery.

The man wishes he had the strength to escape his bindings, his confines; to search the world for his missing lover. However, both his body and his mind weighed down this idealistic will, with plausible cause; if he was to attempt- his brittle bones would probably snap at the sudden exertion, crippling him forever as a pathetic vegetable. And even in his deep well of sadness, tears do not stream down his bruised cheeks. (Oh, right, he already used them all up…)

[… You could even have your brother.]

The choked sound of a stifled sob clawed at his dry throat, causing the muscles to uncomfortably clench together. He can't remember how long it's been since he's felt so empty- since his brother's aura was smothered out like a dim candle; No matter how many true seconds have passed, it still felt like a torturous eternity. Venice has managed to survive, but the same couldn't be said about Rome; Romano has not been as lucky as his younger brother- his injuries were far to grave for a human to withstand. The man's eyes swiftly glanced over to a particular spot close to his seating- it was clean, like the rest of the room- no blood stains or any indications of filth at all. But something still lingered there; perhaps it was the last of his brother's presence- either way the man refused to rest there.

"No, fratello, you can't do this to me~!"

The younger Nation's voice was completely unleveled and uncontrolled as tears poured down his face. He cradled the other, allowing the man's beaten head to rest on his sore knees

"You said you'd protect me! You said we'd escape from here! Hai mentito!"

"… S-shut up…bastardo…"

The response was weak and forced- so odd compared to Romano's usual loud disposition- as the man struggled to remain conscious.

"W-what I said … is what I said frat…tellino…"

He smiled, probably the effect of fever-induced delusions.

It pained the younger Nation to realize this is the only time he's seen his brother smile, or at least in a very long time– even if it wasn't a true sign of happiness. (The last time was before they were separated as children.)

"Mi d-dispiace f-fra…tello, but I have to … go… now…"

"No! Please fratellone, no~!"

Despite his begging the older Nation's eyes slowly drooped close and the hand- which the younger Nation had been clutching tightly, as if it was a lifeline- went limp.

"No! Por favore! Por favore! … Oh Dio, por favore~! ... Per favore, non lasciarmi~!"

The man remembers the melancholic time period that followed immediately after. They didn't remove the body until long after its passing; it must have been weeks- considering how far the rotting flesh went through the decaying process. The Nation had gone through every single stage of grief- twice even- before coming to a bitter acceptance: He was alone in this hell; it was a grueling fact. (Well, until that damned voice came about…)

[Hey, hey, do you remember that old song you used to sing?]

No, not that song; it was an old lullaby his grandfather taught him when he was small. The man would always sing the melody either to motivate himself or in times of sadness.

[How'd it go again? … 'Hey, hey Papa could I have some wine…?']

Grief started to rip through his system- and he wasn't quite sure why; he wished- absolutely longed- for the entity to stop.

[Hey, hey, Mama! Hey, hey, Mama! Doesn't matter what I do, I could never forget- the taste of Bolognese that can't get out'a my head…]

Involuntarily- almost as if he was a puppet- the Nation's mouth opened.

"…D-draw a cir-cle, t-there's …the earth…"

His voice was coarse and raspy, giving way here and there- similar to the voice of a sixty-year-old smoker- while he choked on each syllable.

"D-draw a circl…e, … there's t-the earth…"

Tears begun to gather in his eyes as the foreign tone continued. He was truly broken now- that was the only fact the man knew for sure.

"Draw a c-cir-cle, … there's the e-earth-!"  
A sudden pain erupted in his chest, causing the man to cough out dryly- soon to be replaced with sprays of blood; it wasn't like anything he's experienced before. Agonizing waves of horrible stimulation attacked his nerves as images flashed through his mind; they weren't memories- more like something he never experienced firsthand. Ruins of buildings lay in rubble. People screaming, running for their lives. An Italian flag burned to embers in the distance. Was this what Romano went through before he died? Probably. The Nation collapsed to the ground-gagging on nothing as his dim eyes began to milk over- though he never, ever registered it was truly happening.

"…I-I'm H…Het-talia…"

**Author's Note:**

> Me: (is comforting Italy) I'm so sorry, are you okay? Do you want some pasta? I'll go make you some pasta~!
> 
> Italy: S-si D':
> 
> Me: (runs off with a determined look on face)
> 
> ANYWAYS… I felt so bad for doing this to him! LOL
> 
> This was actually a project for my creative writing class; yeah you heard right, this was for SCHOOL! xD. The project was to portray someone on their memories and it had to be tragic. There were no set guidelines, so my nerd-brain automatically is like- "I gotta use Hetalia!" because it's my favorite show and all. So we got to work on it for about a week and then READ IT IN FRONT OF THE CLASS! …So I did….WITH GUSTO :D! (Yeah that turned out well XD) And my teacher is actually a Hetalia fan- yay for middle-aged otaku's ^^- and was like "….…" by the time I was done. Lets all hope he didn't fail me! XD
> 
> Well after that really loooong back-story- this is my first Hetalia Fanfic; so how'd you guys think I did? For now it's a one-shot, though I was thinking of adding another installment-like with another character (mourns Italy's death in the corner). But I'm not sure. Again what do you guys think? ONTO THE TRANSLATIONS!
> 
> Translations
> 
> Fratello (Italian) - brother
> 
> Ich liebe Dich (German) – I love you
> 
> Ti amo troppo (Italian) – I love you too
> 
> Das verspreche ich Ihnen, mein lieber Schatz (German) - I promise you, my dear treasure
> 
> Hai mentito! (Italian) – You lied!
> 
> Bastardo (Italian) – bastard … obviously XD
> 
> Fratellino (Italian) – younger brother
> 
> Mi dispiace (Italian) – I'm sorry
> 
> Fratellone (Italian) – older brother
> 
> Por favore (Italian) – please
> 
> Dio (Italian) – God
> 
> Per favore, non lasciarmi! (Italian) – Please, don't leave me!
> 
> Well its time for me to say goodbye. Thank you for reading. Thank you for reviewing (…?) ASTA LA PASTA~!
> 
> ~~  
> wow its been a long time. This is actually a work i did about a year ago. My writing has improved tenfold. I may rewrite this, but I'm not sure. Definitely not soon, considering I'm VERY busy with other projects


End file.
